Amortentia
by VausemanFinishingSchool
Summary: Hogwarts AU. Lorna is trying to study for her N.E.W.Ts, but Nicky's too darn distracting.


This was just a little one-shot I felt like writing to get my creative juices back, as I've had the dreaded writer's block on my other stories. I love Harry Potter and I noticed there isn't many crossover stories, so I felt like writing one. If people like it, I may continue (though that's easier said than done when one considers my other stories )

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**Amortentia**

"Oh, gee..."

A mountain of thick, leather-bound textbooks tower over Lorna Morello's lithe frame. Faded parchment is scattered about her library study space, leaving little room for movement, and several disused quills lay beside her slim wand. She exhales, massages her wrinkling temple, straining to suppress the fiery flurry of her mind. Disorganization and Lorna are like two magnets on the brink of repulsion; it perpetuates incredible stress, pushing and prodding so that it soars into the heavens above. And Lorna can't contend with that unwanted ascension. She needs everything as her begging brain sees fit. Craves for all to be perfectly perfect, because anything less is a complete disaster; her surroundings have certainly been struck by such.

She's trying, really fucking trying, to make some sense of the babbling nonsense documented before her. Trailing a shaky finger along the rough page, she attempts to read the sentence, but it makes minimal effort to penetrate her mind. Words and letters and meanings blur into a ball of befuddlement and are hurled into the stratosphere like a Quaffle. It's her goddamn Charms test in a week and zilch makes sense, with all information claiming a sadistic conscience and taunting Lorna's simplicity. Fireworks blast through her thoughts, sending her into a spiralling state of incredible anger and irrationality, but she breathes, shuddering, because she can't allow that side to take hold. She can't. Not as a Hufflepuff.

Without glancing up, nose still buried admist that faint vanilla scent of antiquity, Lorna detaches herself from the crippling, creeping stress by asking the first question that comes into play.

"What d'ya know about Patronums, Nichols?"

Nicky's leaning back in her chair, not so far from Lorna, and incessantly chews on a piece of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. A leg abrasively plonked on the desk and arms nestling behind her thick, slovenly mane, Nicky proves that she's Lorna's opposite and more. While Lorna's tie is neatly tucked into a smooth, ironed cardigan, with her shirt collar tightly buttoned up, Nicky's tie is unravelled and hung loose, and her crumpled, baggy shirt is splattered with countless ink spills. She's a swirling, catastrophic cycle, the storm ever constant (although Lorna wouldn't admit that hers is too). A cynical pessimist by design, Nicky's snarky smirk is etched into plump lips. Hooded, idle eyes trail along at a snail's pace, as though it were a chore to pay attention to anything, and settle on Lorna.

"What?" She barks, but there's little bite, the gum thrashing about the roof of her mouth.

Feeling the gaze upon her, Lorna tears her eyes from the textbook and glances at Nicky and oh Merlin, she'ssofuckinghot, but no, Lorna needs to resist, but fuck, Nicky's sitting there, languidly lazing in the chair, a cool cockiness radiating through, sleeves rolled back to unveil an assortment of tiny tattoos and brawny biceps (thank you, Qudditch), and Lorna's fairly certain she's somewhat wet. Great, that's not what she'd planned. Not what's perfect. Because it's downright dirty and oh, so ridiculously right. Because Nicky Nichols is chaos and Lorna Morello loves it.

"Pa-tro-nums." Lorna repeats slowly, steadily, accented emphasis on each syllable, all in a futile attempt to dictate the rapidly bubbling heat in her core.

"Jesus fuckin' Merlin." Nicky grumbles, still smacking away on her gum. "It's called a Patronus."

Lorna narrows her eyes like a caricature, and the grandiose show represses her sensual being. "That ain't what I'm askin', ya dick for brains."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause I'm the one who doesn't know anything about a Patronus, right?"

"Of course you do. You're super smart. You ain't gotta study and you'll get straight Os. It's really unfair."

Which it is, because Lorna's churning out notes and essays, defiant against the mortality of exhaustion, and yet her efforts never amount. She needs to know those fresh spells for Charms and Transfiguration and that latest Divination concept and which dastardly plant Herbology will spring on her next, but the hours stargazing into textbooks are a pointless endeavor. And it's so excruciatingly, so painfully, so unbelievably unfair, because Nicky's constantly drifting through her school life; frequently absent from classes, scribbling down haphazard essays, never not negligent, but she's sailing along the stream, all while wagging her middle finger at anything and everything.

"Look, Lorna," as Nicky's smirk slides into a frown, the gum is silenced, "grades don't define your intelligence. It's fabricated bullshit. I tried tellin' you this during our O. ."

"And how would you know that, huh?" Lorna gears for the challenge, her head craning forward, a tinkling of envy cruising through. "You might be smart, but if ya start waltzin' around, actin' like you know everything, no-one's gonna cheer for you."

Nicky snorts. "What the fuck does Qudditch have to do with my obviously blessed intellect?"

"'Cause nobody likes a smug-ass." Lorna retorts, bursting with pride at her swift comeback.

"Baby," As Nicky's smirk returns, Lorna comes undone in a beat, both by that pet name and her best friend's (crush's? lover's?) appetizing ego. And she's sure Nicky knows that, because her smirk only broadens as the seconds fly by, "I'm a Gryffindor. A true Lothario lioness. Can't be sittin' on my ass like those Hufflepuffs. Pussies, the lot of 'em."

Lorna raises an eyebrow, adamant on giving no light to her amusement. "You really gonna mock my house? Right in fronta' me?"

"C'mon, even you can't deny your housemates are a bunch of boring wussy shits." Nicky snickers, ever the childish soul. "Think of a Qudditch game. They'll just sit back and let you attack, attack, attack. There's no challenge. No thrills."

"It's 'cause Hufflepuffs ain't nasty." Lorna figures. "We don't wanna hurt anyone. Unlike Gryffindor, who're justa' bunch of arrogant, mean bullies."

Nicky scoffs, lifts an arm to tug down her shirt and fuck, those toned triceps seem to ripple with every goddamn movement. "And you say Hufflepuffs ain't nasty. Who's feedin' you that shit, eh? Professor Horse-Face Fig? Neigh!"

"Was just what Franny was sayin' to me." Lorna bumbles, eyes darting away as she fidgets with a loose thread on her sleeve; the chilling fire refuses to subside, leaving her wetter than ever before.

"Huh." Nicky comes to a halt, allowing Lorna to refix her hesitant gaze. "Good to know your sister detests my presence in this world."

"Well I don't." Lorna murmurs, reluctance sweeping her conscience, but as Nicky flashes that fucking grin - that silly, lopsided, golden grin saved exclusively for her, Lorna regains the confidence to continue. "I mean, sure, you're all messy and scrappy, and you've got the biggest mouth outta' everyone in Hogwarts-"

"I really don't see where you're going with this-"

"Shush, don't interrupt." Lorna wiggles a nagging finger as though she were waving her wand, almost anticipating a Silencing Charm to shoot out.

"But-"

"Nicky." Lorna asserts, staggeringly short on approach, and it comes as a slight shock to her mind. "Lemme speak. Be quiet for once, huh?"

"Ugh, fuckin' Merlin." Nicky slumps further in her seat, resuming her relentless chomping.

Lorna giggles, taking Nicky's petulant sulk as her cue to continue. "But I don't care 'bout those things, 'cause that's what makes you, you. And I kinda like you, Nichols."

"Well, uh," Nicky coughs, prises out her gum, twirls it into a ball, and Lorna swears that a slight tinge of pink spreads across her cheeks, "you've stuck around since the First Year, kid. Kinda stating the obvious there. Now c'mon," she pats a textbook spine, "you've got a Charms test to study for. Quit procrastinating."

"I'm procrastinating?" Lorna snorts, taking in Nicky's slothful laze and scruffy attire once more. "Look at you. It's like you've downed eight shots of Firewiskey at The Three Broomsticks."

"I fuckin' wish." Nicky chuckles, flicking the rolled gum astray. "Getting drunk seems like a viable option right about now. If I was stressed, of course. 'Cause I ain't."

"Uh huh." Lorna nods, a small smirk tugging at her lips; Nicky's awfully talented in the art of dodging certain conversations, always switching its course with ease, but Lorna knows this all too well. "If you're so un-stressed, why'd ya look like you've just walked outta' Azkaban?"

"Marka always said I was destined for imprisonment. What a grand expectation for your only child, eh?"

"Aww." Lorna coos. "I think you'd make a great prisoner, hon."

Nicky takes her lower lip between pearly white teeth as doe-eyes darken in desire and shit, is it fucking sexy. "'Cause it's you, I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that."

Lorna leans forward, studies and stresses arrested, temporarily locked up in the steel cage of teenage woes, all while releasing her innermost wants. Nicky, with her ruggedly handsome countenance and frazzled hair as outlandish as her personality, looks like a perfectly mismatched jigsaw; every uneven piece somehow corresponds, from each dusted freckle to thick mascara clumps, and a wonderfully unique picture is formed. Most prolific in the puzzle is her oversized, mystical medallion; embellished with a lion carved in ruby, its presence is the pièce de résistance in embodying Nicky's persona. She's striking, but not in the conventional sense. Never does she conform to the masses, to that public perception of beauty, but Lorna's too consumed by that lustful fog to truly care.

"Oh, yeah?" Lorna murmurs, lips cast in a conscious pout, stretching over the abundance of parchment long forgotten. "'Cause it's me, huh?"

Nicky's smiling soft and earnest, its usual disdain untraceable. She sits up, leg flying off the table, and comes in close, warm breath tickling Lorna's skin. "Yeah, 'cause it's you..." She croaks out in a mumble, her eyes animalistic and lidded.

Lorna gasps, silent but deadly, utterly desperate to feel it; to feel all of it, from Nicky's lips to her fingers, plunging in and out of her pussy, offering sweet relief to the soreness within. And then Nicky finally allows their lips to meet like two No-Maj magnets jolting together. Lorna closes her eyes, sighs into the kiss, instantly tasting strong, sour crazyberry with a hint of bitter smoke; it's distinctly Nicky. Butterfly pecks are swiftly exchanged, and Lorna can almost sense a layer of her waxen, sticky lipstick painting all over Nicky's mouth. She whimpers, aching for that release, not knowing now what it means, if it means anything at all, but certainly knowing it means something, because she's so fucking turned on. But as Nicky slyly pushes out her tongue, a flurry of thoughts come crashing into Lorna's senses. A twinge of concern, yes (they're still in the library, after all), but rather the profound realization that she's supposed to be studying, not kissing her best friend (crush? Lover? Girlfriend?)

Lorna pulls away, and her heated core whines in dismay. As her eyes flutter open, she spots the return of Nicky's bold, cocky glint and can't help the soft whimper that escapes. "Mmm, stop distractin' me..."

"Not my fault I'm irresistible, doll." Nicky gives a brash wink.

"But you kissed me." Lorna reaches out, nimble fingers teasingly fumbling with Nicky's opened collar. "Guess I'm the irresistible one, huh?"

Nicky's breath hitches in her throat as her gaze enters a trance, the loopy infatuation clouding her countenance. Though Lorna hasn't casted a Stunning Spell, every tightly bound knot of Nicky Nichols unravels in that instant, and her solid exterior disintergrates into non-existence. She's really fucking turned on, stupefied with her sexual prowess, and that knowledge only heightens Lorna's own desires.

"Guess you are, kid." Nicky murmurs out, and fuck, it's so hoarse and husky and hushed, and Lorna's only more turned on by it.

Lorna smirks, satisfied with her sudden accomplishment; she's responsible for evoking that reaction, for Nicky to melt in minutes, her iron barrier clambering to the ground, and it's so deliciously satisfying. God, she wants this, needs this, and no amount of piling schoolwork can sweep her back into reality. Not now. She quickly grapples Nicky's collar, fingers scathing the medallion's golden chain, and uses her free hand to tuck away a thick mass of blonde curls. She homes in dangerously close, only stopping when her lips are inches away from Nicky's ear, and slowly presses a tender kiss against its shell, earning a soft, shaky sigh from the Gryffindor.

"I'm so fuckin' horny..." She whispers, keeping her voice smooth and sensual, knowing her best friend-crush-girlfriend-whatever absolutely revels in the excessive attention.

Nicky chuckles, lust lacing her rough tone. "I've got detention soon. And ain't you got a Prefect meeting or somethin'?"

"The Room of Requirement ain't far." Lorna mumbles into Nicky's ear, fingers dancing along her exposed collarbone.

"Well, uh," Nicky chuckles again, but it's notably lower and throatier than before, "what the fuck are we waitin' for, eh?"


End file.
